Leaving the group of twenty-somethings to their mating ritual, I passed a place called Black Jack’s Point and continued on in glorious sunshine until a brick structure caught my eye. With my curious nature taking hold, I left the path to investigate.
A short distance away, on the shore amongst the stones, rocks and replantings, standing taller than my six foot frame were some very carefully made brick sculptures. They remind me of the kind of artwork that could be found in an open air gallery or something. Suddenly a train rattled past on the tracks that were not too far away. Letting my imagine go, I then wondered whether they had been made a homeless hobo who had a name like Diamond Joe James, T-Bone Jack, or Railway Butch who had spent his life riding the train boxcars up and down the line from Dunedin City to Port Chalmbers. The kind of person that folk singers like Woody Guthrie or Ramblin Jack Elliott would sing about in the 1950’s. Just then, I was shaken from my daydream when I tripped over a branch that had been hiding in plain sight, I stumbled forward a few metres, before regaining my balance with the aid of the bank.
Ensuring I had all my belongings and that my feet weren’t wet, I decided to leave these sculptures for others to enjoy and returned to the path.